


At Least It's Not Puberty

by CloudedCreation



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: And it starts out solemn and such, But then comes crack, Crack, Didn't really mean to, Dimension Travel, Gen, Harry doesn't get to die, In which Harry Potter saves the Hales from the fire, Rebirth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 08:35:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/911130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudedCreation/pseuds/CloudedCreation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evert time Harry Potter died, he started over from the ripe age of seventeen. The place was other every time - though it had been so long he lost count way back - but the process was the same.<br/>Live, grow old, die. Repeat.<br/>"Now, why is there a house on fire?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	At Least It's Not Puberty

Harry Potter had no clue what so ever where he was.

Not _when_ he was either, for that matter.

It wasn’t even the first time.

He sighed in reluctant acceptance, all to used to the fickle nature of the deity that ruled over him. Lady Fate had always been pretty keen on him, after all.

Where other men and women had been allowed to live their lives in peace, as well as die and go to that-which-lies-after when Death comes knocking on their doorsteps, every time the old bat came looking for him she uprooted him with her unrestrained force and threw him someplace else. Somewhere new, where no one knew of either him or his deeds, where he could start over yet again, his body once more turned to the state it had been in at the time of his magical majority at seventeen.

He had lost count of how many times he had begun anew at seventeen.

He was kinda glad that it was in fact seventeen, though, because fuck all if he would have to go through puberty as well for the rest of eternity. Small mercies.

Well, he couldn’t be lying on the ground forever – or, he could try, but it would grow boring after a while. Harry stretched out his arms above his head, cracking his neck and getting accustomed to his rejuveniled body. That was one of the better parts with starting over, no aching bones or tired limbs.

He cracked open an eye, blanched at the bright sun glaring in his face, and spent the next minute slowly getting used to it.

The first look he actually got of his surroundings was pretty ordinary. Trees, grass, your everyday shrubbery. He was in a forest, all right.

“Now, why is there a house on fire in the middle of the forest?” Harry mused out loud, bending his neck just so as he observed the flames reach new heights.

It was quite surprising that he hadn’t noticed it until just now; it smelled quite badly of burning wood and other things, after all.

“Die, werewolf scum!” A woman shouted at the burning building.

Just as it was quite surprising that he had missed a lady with a gun hung over her shoulder make happy noises at it. With accompanying maybe-dancing. And was that an old man staring adoringly at her from afar? It was.

Strange world.

“Well, werewolves on fire doesn’t smell good, and I doubt Remus would be too pleased with me, either. I should do something about that.” He eyed the increasingly more frighteningly woman, noted just how many knives she had stuck to her belt, and looked down on his own naked and wandless state. “Maybe.”

Some clothes would be nice, first.


End file.
